Under Your Thumb
by Appletree5
Summary: Hannibal presents the case of Mrs Annabelle Miller to the team as a fait accompli. He's always been a sucker for a downtrodden woman. Okay, so maybe she's as vacuous as a black hole but he's seen that look of despair before ... It's unanimous. He tells Face to go get Murdock and then calls Annabelle. "You just hired the A-Team," he tells her.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

No matter your personal level of sanity, a gun to the back of the head has a funny way of focusing the mind.

As Hannibal watches Murdock drop his gun and allow himself to be pushed to his knees, he wonders where on his captain's person sanity scale his mind is right now. Speaking for himself, he's never felt more sane in his life.

He watches Face and BA drop their own weapons as the gun trained on Murdock remains steady. Face's glare holds the promise of retribution and pain while the look on BA's face is one of hatred and incredulity that someone managed to get the drop on them in quite such a spectacular way.

Joseph Miller grins. Hannibal would love nothing more than to wipe that smile off his face but he knows that one false move will cost Murdock his life. And Hannibal's not prepared to do that.

"Drop your weapon, Smith," Miller instructs.

Belatedly, the colonel realises he still has his automatic gripped tightly in both hands. He could, he thinks, let loose a round of bullets, see what the Fates have lined up for them. But then he sees the look in Murdock's eyes, feels Face and BA watching him, and slowly, reluctantly, he lowers his gun to the ground and kicks it away from himself.

It's snatched up by one of Miller's accomplices and immediately turned back on the team. Miller himself steps away from Murdock but his gun is still aimed at the pilot, the implicit threat as real as ever. The only person who can't see it is Murdock himself.

Hannibal watches as the pilot goes through a gamut of emotions in seconds – relief, hope, determination and finally anger. The colonel isn't sure of the exact moment he knows what Murdock has planned but he knows he has to stop it.

"Stand down, Captain," he says and shakes his head at Murdock just as the man is about to rise up off his knees.

Miller smiles and walks around Murdock, gun coming into his eyeline bit by bit.

"Yeah, 'stand down, captain'," he mocks, and Hannibal glares at him but Murdock has relaxed.

"What now?" Hannibal directs the question at Miller although he's pretty sure he already knows the answer. Miller isn't the kind of man who takes defeat lightly.

"It's simple," the man replies. "I want my wife back."

* * *

Annabelle Miller has lived the highlife her whole life. Born to money, she was more at ease with servants than with friends. Her parents pandered to her every whim throughout childhood resulting in an entitled prima donna by the time she hit senior school. Her friends were the children of her father's friends, her mother indulged her at the Club, weekly facials and spas from the age of 14, and her own personal chauffeur doubled as a bodyguard and sometime confidant.

She met Joseph Miller at Blue Excess downtown. She had been far too young to have been clubbing there really but in those days no-one with any sense turned her down. Daddy was far too influential for that.

It had been a wild ride; Joseph courted her with words, gifts, promises and, finally, drugs. When he proposed she'd said yes without a second thought. He'd put on a good show for her family, always the perfect boyfriend. He was deferential, courteous and charmed her mother out of her socks. Everyone said it was the perfect match.

The wedding had been ostentatious. She had glowed, he had preened. They were the best thing that had happened to the town in years. The future was rosy.

And then things changed.

* * *

Her father died suddenly and under dubious circumstances. The grief had driven her mother mad, reliant on pills and therapy to get through the day. Joseph had been sympathetic and helpful; he took on the estate single handedly, he organised power of attorney for Annabelle but never let her worry about the details – he had it all in hand.

He became more and more distant from Annabelle. She worried he found her cumbersome, that her perfect life was about to come to an end.

Then the arguments started. Simple at first. Where had he been all night? Why was the phone ringing at one in morning? Who were those men who arrived in the middle of the night and didn't leave till the next day? The answer was always the same: don't worry your pretty little head about it.

But she did worry. She may have had a privileged upbringing, but she wasn't stupid. When Joseph stopped her access to their bank accounts she complained.

That was the first time he hit her.

He started staying out for days on end. She tried to find out where he was but when he came home he was always tired and only wanted to drink. Sometimes he'd want her but mostly she felt like an inconvenience.

Then she found another woman's jewellery in his bag. She asked him about it.

That was the first time he put her in the hospital.

And now, eighteen months, four hospital visits and countless incidents of verbal abuse later, she's ready to leave.

She has a number which she calls.

She's given a name, all she needs is an excuse to go out by herself. The bodyguards Joseph has assigned her 'for her own protection' are like limpets. She tells them she needs to go shopping. It's a weak ploy but once out she manages to lose them. It won't be long till they find her again but as long as she's back in a shop it won't matter.

She just needs long enough to find Mr Lee.

* * *

Hannibal presents the case of Mrs Annabelle Miller to the team as a fait accompli. He's always been a sucker for a downtrodden woman. Okay, so maybe she's as vacuous as a black hole but he's seen that look of despair before. She's clearly a woman of means so their fee won't be a problem. Face takes one look at her picture and determines her to be a worthy cause. Hannibal isn't surprised by this and just gives his lieutenant one of those looks.

"You'll need to keep your mind on the case," he warns him and Face has the nerve to look affronted by the suggestion his mind may be elsewhere.

BA is completely onboard. Hannibal knows how much respect the man has for women and this is clearly something he can't let pass by. No matter how she got herself in this situation, BA tells them, it's not her fault.

Hannibal can't argue with them. It's unanimous.

He tells Face to go get Murdock and then calls Annabelle.

"You just hired the A-Team," he tells her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Breaking Murdock out of the VA is getting ridiculously easy. Face doesn't think the staff there even try to keep him any more. They used to check paperwork, make phone calls, give Murdock stern words about looking after himself and sometimes, just sometimes, they'd tell him to be careful. Now though, they just shrug and sign whatever documents are put in front of them.

He smiles at the nurse who leads him down the hallway without even commenting on the late hour or the unexpectedness of Murdock's temporary release. She comes to a stop outside his door, his room bathed in a soft light from the lamp on his nightstand. Taking out her key, she knocks gently.

"Mr Murdock?" she calls as she unlocks the door and opens it. "You have a visitor." She steps away and lets Face pass.

"Thank you, Nurse," he says, giving her one of his most charming smiles. "You can go back to your duties. I'll take it from here."

She looks uncertain for a second then, glancing at Murdock's sleeping form, she nods. "If you're sure, Mr O'Brien," and she returns to her post at the main desk.

Face waits until he's sure she's out of earshot before closing the door to Murdock's room. The pilot is still asleep and he hopes that tonight's not one of those nights where the orderlies have had to sedate him. Usually he'd be up and bouncing as soon as one of the team arrives.

Face moves over to the head of Murdock's bed and looks down at the captain. He looks peaceful enough, no sign of nightmares, and the lieutenant is almost reluctant to wake him. He sleeps better these days but Face knows he still has enough broken nights to justify the sedatives the VA dole out to him on a regular basis.

He puts a hand on Murdock's shoulder and shakes him gently.

"Murdock," he murmurs, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to the room from any passing nurses or orderlies. "Wake up."

Murdock shifts in his sleep, rolling onto his side, face half buried in his pillow. Face shakes him a little harder.

"Murdock," he repeats, louder this time. "Time to get up."

"I don' wanna," comes a muffled reply. "Go 'way."

Face sighs. On the one hand, Murdock hasn't been sedated but on the other, he's clearly not interested in getting out of bed. If they didn't have a job to get to, Face would find this endearing but they've got work to do and there's no time for this.

"Murdock," he hisses, "get up. We need to go," and he shifts his hand from Murdock's shoulder to gently tap his cheek.

Murdock's reaction is spectacular. Sometimes Face forgets just how lethal the pilot can be. Murdock's hand shoots out and grips his wrist tightly, twisting his arm back and up while simultaneously throwing himself out of bed and over his perceived attacker's body. Face knows he can get out of this easily but he also knows there are times he needs to treat Murdock with care.

So he lets himself be thrown face down onto the mattress, going completely limp. He gives Murdock time to come to his senses, feeling the second Murdock recognises him.

"Oh God," the pilot mumbles. "Facey. I'm so sorry. I thought you were…" He trails off as he lets go of his friend and backs into corner.

Face smiles as he turns to face him. "That's okay, Murdock. Good to see those reactions still kick in."

Murdock nods, clearly embarrassed. "You shouldn't do that to a man," he blusters. "I could've killed you."

Face nods, recognising the truth in the statement. He decides the best way to deal with this is with distraction. "Get dressed," he says. "We've got a mission."

* * *

BA is the first one to see the headlights of Face's Vette as he pulls into the driveway of Hannibal's latest place. He's cleaning their weapons, more for something to do than because they need cleaning. The team all understand the importance of good maintenance, they've seen the results of a jammed gun too many times to take it lightly.

Murdock's the first one through the door, literally bouncing on his toes and BA wonders if they've left him at the VA a little bit too long this time. The man clearly has an excess of energy that the confines of the hospital does nothing to expend.

"Hey, BA," he enthuses. "Did you miss me?"

BA shakes his head grumpily but has to admit to himself that yes, maybe just a little bit. The team never seems quite right unless all four of them are there.

But Murdock has already moved on, bounding through to the kitchen where Hannibal is poring over maps and newspapers.

"So, Colonel," he says, "what's the plan?"

BA puts down the gun he's holding and listens to the conversation. He's quite interested in Hannibal's answer and he can see Face is listening too. By some silent, mutual agreement the two men move to where Hannibal is now folding up the map and grinning at Murdock.

BA doesn't like it when Hannibal grins like that. It rarely ends well.

"Annabelle Miller has a heavily doctored schedule," he says. "She's monitored 24/7 by her husband and has two bodyguards assigned to her at all times. Goes without saying that it's going to be difficult to get her alone so our first job is to take out those guards."

"Won't that set off alarms?" Face asks the obvious.

There's that grin again, thinks BA.

"Absolutely," Hannibal agrees. "But that's what we want."

"Setting off alarms?" Murdock queries and Hannibal nods.

"We need a distraction and what would be a better way to create a commotion than to take out the guards?"

BA can think of several other methods but Hannibal's on the jazz and nothing he, or anyone else, can say is going to change it.

"BA," the colonel is saying, "you and Face deal with that side of it. Annabelle goes to the gym every morning at eight. Her guards won't be in the changing room with her – that's your window of opportunity. While you're doing that, I'll be persuading Annabelle to come with me. She's going to put up a fight – you need to make sure that they see us taking her. It needs to look like a kidnapping. Murdock, you'll be outside in the van with the engine running."

Murdock looks thoughtful and starts to pick at the hem of his T shirt. "Um, Colonel? Why do we need to kidnap her? I thought she wanted this?"

BA watches Hannibal take a cigar from his top pocket and roll it between his fingers. Then he drops a hand on Murdock's shoulder.

"Because, Captain, everyone needs to believe she hasn't left of her own accord. If Miller thinks for one second she's instigated this, her mother will be in danger. He has friends in corrupt places and he's ruthless."

"But then he's just going come after us," Face points out the inevitable second flaw in the plan. "How is that going to help Annabelle?"

Hannibal nods. "Of course he is," he agrees. "And when he does he'll bring his best men."

"That don't sound good, Hannibal." BA can't stay silent any more. This plan has more holes in it than Swiss cheese. He's no genius but he reckons it would be easier to just grab Mrs Miller at night – it wouldn't be the first time they've snatched someone in the early hours and if she's expecting them, and cooperating, it would be simple. Hannibal seems to be complicating things just for the fun of it.

"Oh, BA," the colonel's grin has just got even bigger. "But it is. It puts them all together in the same place. Security at his office and house will be non-existent. We're going to need something to make sure Miller never goes near his wife again. There's bound to be something in there, he's not exactly whiter than white."

"I don't know, Hannibal," Face interjects. "Can't she just disappear? Wouldn't that be easier?"

"He's not the type of guy to let this lie," the colonel clarifies. "We have to have something to hold against him to make sure Annabelle and her mother are safe for the rest of their lives."

BA can see some sort of logic in this. He hates to admit it but Hannibal is right, the safety of these two women is paramount. It's going to go wrong somewhere along the line, he knows that, but as long as the outcome is the one they're aiming for, he'll suck it up for now.

"Okay guys," Hannibal says. "Get some rest, we'll move in the morning."

"What could possibly go wrong?" Face mutters, just loud enough for BA to hear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Annabelle's gymnasium is, as to be expected, at the high end of the market. It's all polished mirrors, tiled floors, muscle men and receptionists who look like they've stepped off the cover of a glossy magazine. The clientele seems to be spending longer trying to get looked at than they do actually working out.

As Hannibal waits in the van with his team he think this could work to their advantage. The early morning crowd is smaller than he'd thought it would be and he reckons not one of them will try to stop their kidnap escapade – far too much risk of putting a hair out of place.

He watches Face and BA scoping the area. He knows they're not really happy with the plan but he's in charge and he's confident it will work, he can _feel_ it.

Annabelle's limo pulls up right on time and her bodyguards step out of the car, scanning the area. Hannibal can tell they're well trained, Miller has the money and the contacts for the best he can get. The colonel wonders if he should be sending Murdock in with Face and BA, just to be on the safe side but they need the van running to make their getaway. He dismisses the thought as quickly as it crops up.

The trio make their way through the tinted glass doors of the gym, disappearing behind it's façade of elegance and sophistication.

"Okay guys," he says. "Time to go. Murdock, keep her running, we'll be back in a minute."

He pretends not to hear Face's amused huff at that statement as the three of them exit the van. Hannibal lags behind his lieutenant and sergeant watching them make their way into the sleek building. They slip behind the clientele, easily avoiding detection by the staff on duty. It helps, Hannibal thinks, that they don't worry about Annabelle because of her bodyguards. It means they're not looking for trouble.

Annabelle's good. She's not showing any signs of worry or nerves. She knows this is going to happen today but the colonel was explicit in his instructions – any sign his team have been seen, any inkling of betrayal and they walk. It's simple and he was very clear.

Hannibal watches Face and BA follow them into the changing area and then turns around, making his way to the rear of the building where he knows the locker rooms are situated. There's a window he can easily get through into the ladies' area and Annabelle has been told to make sure she's close to the window. He's not going in until he can see her, there's no point in taking needless risks.

There's a convenient pallet waiting for him in the bushes by the window to use as a ladder. Convenient because he put it there when he came to scope the place out. Part of him wonders why the security staff haven't spotted it and removed it but then another part of him realises these people take everything for granted and if they're not looking for something, they won't find it. Which works perfectly for him.

Sliding it quietly so it sits under the window, he climbs just high even to peer through the open gap. Annabelle has been true to her word and made sure the window is open. Hannibal's sure it was easy enough for her to do, changing rooms are notoriously hot, sweaty places no matter how sophisticated you are.

He peers through, thinking how much Face would probably enjoy this side of the assignment. Which is why he's out front with BA and not here getting distracted by this show of beautiful women in various stages of undress. Hannibal ignores them, sweeping the room till he spots his target.

Annabelle is halfway through changing into her gym kit – short shorts and cropped top. She's sitting on a bench, bent at the waist to slip her trainers on. Hannibal hopes Face and BA have managed to accomplish their task because he's on the move now.

With an agility that would surprise most people, the colonel pushes himself through the window, flipping round and landing gracefully on two feet. He ignores the screams of the women, ignores the woman who throws a towel at him while secretly admiring her courage, and pushes past them all to get to Annabelle. She's standing, rooted to the spot, doing an admirable job of being petrified. Hannibal wonders if acting lessons were part of her expensive education.

In one swift move, the colonel grabs hold of Annabelle's wrist and throws her over his shoulder. The movement jolts her out of her stupor and she begins to struggle and scream. It's a good performance and she manages to kick Hannibal a couple of times before he gets an arm across her legs to pin them to his chest.

The towel throwing woman has moved. She's standing in front of the door and Hannibal knows he's going to have to stay in character to get past her. He wonders how to do this without hurting her and then reluctantly acknowledges he can't. But he'll be as gentle as he can.

"Stop!" towel woman is shouting at him. "Put her down!"

For a brief moment Hannibal wonders if she does weights or martial arts. She looks as though she's about to launch herself at him and Annabelle. If she does that, he really will have to hurt her and that's not something he's prepared to do. He swings Annabelle off his shoulder and holds her to him with an arm round her throat. This wasn't part of the plan but he hopes Annabelle will pick up on the change.

"Get out of the way, lady," he snarls at towel woman, "or I'll snap her neck and then I'll snap yours."

Towel woman hesitates, looks at Annabelle and then sags visibly.

"Don't worry, Annie," she says, "we'll find you."

Annabelle nods her head as best she can and Hannibal forces her through the door to where he hopes Face and BA are waiting for him with two downed but conscious bodyguards.

* * *

Face studies the bodyguards as he and BA follow them down the corridor to the changing rooms. The plush carpet in this area is doing perfect job of covering up their footsteps so they don't need to be over cautious.

He glances at his companion, wondering which of the men in front he's going to take. They really should have talked about this, he thinks ruefully. Of the two of them BA has the advantage physically. Personally, he'd prefer to talk his way through this one but that just won't work for Hannibal's plan so violence it is. But not too much, apparently. He hates this plan.

Annabelle is disappearing through the door to the locker room and her bodyguards position themselves one on either side, arms folded, looking threatening but somehow in keeping with the environment. They're wearing expensive, dark suits but however well cut the suits are, Face can still see the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster.

Hannibal had been quite clear in his instructions. Once Annabelle is out of sight, they have five minutes to disable the bodyguards. Five minutes, Face argued, is quite a long time to be at the sharp end of a fist fight. Hannibal had just grinned and chewed the end of his cigar. He'd looked to BA for support but the sergeant actually looked like he was looking forward to it.

Maybe, Face thinks, they could just hang out here for a few minutes, cut down on the actual fight time, because he really doesn't like the look of those guards. For starters, they're both at least 200 pounds of pure muscle and that's before you even consider what sort of training they've had. The guns, he reckons, are going to be the least of his worries.

He grabs hold of BA's arm, bringing the sergeant to a halt.

"Why don't we give it a minute or two?" he suggests. BA just looks at him and then smacks a fist into his open palm.

"Hannibal said…"

"I know what Hannibal said," Face interrupts, "but look at them. Why rush into things?"

BA turns to look at the guards and Face thinks he may have made his point and starts to relax. But as BA stares at the guards, he manages to catch the eye of one of them.

If only he hadn't smiled at the guy, Face thinks as the bodyguard in question reaches for his weapon.

There's no time now to wait. Face has to take that gun out of commission before someone – he – gets hurt. He launches himself at the guy, powering a fist into a stomach that is apparently made of steel. It doesn't affect the man in any way whatsoever but at least he's no longer reaching for his gun.

No, now he's reaching for Face and the lieutenant resigns himself to the fact that this is going to hurt. He can see BA out of the corner of his eye holding his own with the other bodyguard and he hopes that fight will be over quickly so BA can take care of his guy too.

As a large fist gathers his shirt and Face is pulled forward, he uses the arm attached to it to pull himself up and plant both his feet in the guard's chest with as much force as he can muster. The element of surprise on his side, the guard lets go of Face and staggers backwards coming to rest against the wall.

Face lands on the floor with acrobatic grace and is immediately on the offensive. He raises a clenched fist and swings for the bodyguard's head. The man, however, is as well trained as Face and easily deflects the blow, following it with one of his own. Face ducks but he's not quite fast enough and the punch glances off the side of his head. It rattles his brain but years of training are enough for him to be acting on pure instinct now – he doesn't need to think about this.

The lieutenant sees a roundhouse kick coming his way and staggers backwards to avoid the bulk of the impact. Again, he's not quite fast enough, not quite far away enough and the boot that lands in his gut is enough to wind him, knocking him to the ground.

With impressive speed, the guard is on him, a hand round his throat, squeezing tightly, and the other raised to deliver a killing blow. As lack of oxygen starts to impede his vision, Face is aware of BA coming up from behind the guard. He struggles as best he can, trying to shake off his attacker and just as he thinks the blow is coming, BA's hand comes into sight, grabbing hold of the arm on its way down to his face.

The hand round his throat disappears and he rolls to the side, coughing violently. He's not going to be able to talk properly for about a week now he reckons but at least he can breathe again. He tries to shake the buzzing from his ears and laboriously climbs to his feet.

BA's opponent is out cold, not quite what their instructions were but Face can't be sorry about that. If BA had been kept busy, he'd probably be dead by now. He looks to where the sergeant is locked in a remarkably well matched fight. He wonders if he should step in to help. He glances back at the changing rooms; Hannibal is going to be coming through those doors any second now.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, he hears BA grunt and the sound of bone meeting flesh, followed by the unmistakable thump of a body hitting the ground. It's timed perfectly with the door of the changing room opening and the appearance of Hannibal holding a struggling Annabelle Miller.

Hannibal takes one look at the scene and shakes his head.

"I needed at least one of them conscious," he complains, and Face realises BA has taken out both guards completely.

BA simply shrugs. "I told you your plan was no good," he retorts.

Face watches, rubbing his neck where he can still feel that brutal hand. "Should we go?" he suggests, happy when Hannibal nods, pulling Annabelle along with him. They're gathering quite the crowd and they'd all like to avoid collateral damage.

Face stops just long enough to collect the guards' guns. Just in case.

* * *

They make it back out to the parking lot in less than thirty seconds where Murdock should be in the van, engine turning over, ready for a quick getaway.

Hannibal, leading the way with Annabelle, comes to such an abrupt halt that Face almost runs into him.

The van – and Murdock – is nowhere to be seen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Murdock doesn't like this plan. He's fed up of being a secret weapon, used but not celebrated. It's not like they don't need him, he's not a mascot to be dragged around when it suits them. He's a vital part of the team and they all know that. So why is he the one sitting here in the van, waiting while the guys have all the fun?

He's a pilot, not a chauffeur. And he just knows BA is going to gripe about how he treats the van, how he drives, how he doesn't respect the van like he would an aircraft.

Truth be told, he does respect the van, and BA, but it's not the same when you're hidden away from view. He wants to be on the frontline. He's spent years being the cavalry riding to the rescue and sometimes, just sometimes, he wants more. He fantasizes about the day the team get their pardon and the full extent of his involvement is revealed to all and sundry.

As he plays out the public revelation in his head, he keeps an eye on the parking lot. Nothing's happening out there and he's bored. He puts his feet up on the dashboard and smirks as he imagines BA's face when he find the dusty footprints on his beloved van.

It's been over a minute. "Just a minute," Hannibal had said. Like that ever happens. But he's not worried. Things always take a little longer than Hannibal anticipates but Murdock thinks the colonel is the only one not to have realised that yet.

The sound of a car peeling into the parking lot catches his attention. He slides down in the seat far enough to not be seen but not so far he can't see. The limo that is hurtling towards the gym's entrance isn't wholly out of place here but the speed with which it's travelling is slightly incongruous. It's enough to warrant a little more attention than the rest of the passing traffic.

Murdock watches as it comes to a halt and the back doors open. He finds himself automatically reaching for his gun as Joseph Miller steps elegantly out of the vehicle, followed by his own bodyguards.

Murdock knows this could spell trouble for the guys. They haven't planned for this turned of events. Hannibal always has a contingency plan for most things but this one just seemed so simple none of them really worried about it.

All the pilot knows is he's got to stop them entering the gymnasium.

He's out of the van and across the parking lot before the doors of the limo have shut fully. He's not sure this is going to work but he's got to do something so he launches himself across the tarmac, gun in hand, until he's got the gun at Miller's back.

"Hand over all your money!" he demands in his best ne-er do well voice. "All of it now, before I shoot you!"

It's not the best plan he's ever come up with he muses as the bodyguards move as one to disarm him, pulling his gun hand away from Miller and wrenching the gun from his now numb arm. He puts up a fight, or at least a semblance of a fight, but two highly trained bodyguards against one skinny pilot was always going to go one way and one way only.

Finding himself in a headlock and getting a very close up view of the concrete ground, Murdock gives himself a mental pat on the back. Miller seems to have forgotten the purpose of his visit as the guard releases Murdock, helping him fall to the ground.

"Who the hell are you?" Miller demands, towering above Murdock.

Murdock rolls on to his back, conscious of the time that's passing. He squints at Miller and laughs. "I am the Marvellous Mungo, mugger extrodinaire."

Miller frowns and places a solid foot on Murdock's chest, exerting just enough pressure to make breathing difficult but not impossible.

"No," he says. "No-one in this town is so stupid as to attack me. Who are you, really?"

"Really," Murdock gasps, "I'm the Marvellous Mungo. You must have heard of me? _Please_ tell me you've heard of me?"

"Muggers don't drive vans like that," Miller growls, looking at BA's pride and joy sitting just across from them.

The pressure on his chest increases and the captain suddenly finds the blue sky fading to grey around the edges. Through the buzzing in his ears he vaguely hears Miller telling his men to take the van, and boy is that going piss off BA. Then the pressure is gone and arms are lifting him and throwing him inside Miller's limo where he lands heavily on the floor. He feels the vehicle lurch as Miller and one of his guards settle themselves down and then there's another foot, heavier and larger this time, on his back, holding him down.

"I _will_ find out who you are," Miller says, "and when I do you're going to regret it."

* * *

"Where's my van?" BA growls.

"Where's Murdock?" Face joins in, sounding slightly more worried than BA.

Hannibal doesn't know. He hadn't anticipated this. Murdock may not always be fully in control of his actions but he's never let them down before and he refuses to believe the captain would do so now.

Annabelle spins round to face the colonel and he can see the woman's scared.

"I thought you said this would be a piece of cake?" she says, panic colouring her words.

"It is," Hannibal replies, brain working furiously through various scenarios in milliseconds. "BA," he says, "get us a car. Non-descript."

The words are hardly out of his mouth before the sergeant is bolting across the parking lot to a dark four door saloon. Hannibal and Face follow, Hannibal dragging Annabelle by the wrist to keep up appearances. Security staff are starting to spill out of the gymnasium and just as Hannibal thinks he and Face may have another fight on their hands, BA pulls up next to them.

Hannibal throws Annabelle in the back seat and slides in next to her, pulling his gun out. Face does likewise in the passenger seat and as BA peels out of the parking lot they let loose a flurry of bullets, spraying the ground in front of the security staff to discourage any heroic action.

Once out on the highway, BA slows the car to a reasonable speed. Hannibal's grateful for the foresight, they don't want to be stopped by the cops on a speeding violation.

"What now, Colonel?" Face asks.

"Stick to the plan," he replies. "Something made Murdock leave, that's the place he knows we'll be."

"What if he ain't there?" BA voices the concern they all have.

"Then we'll find him," Hannibal states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What about me?" Annabelle chips in. "Joseph will know by now that I'm missing. He'll be looking for me. And you."

Hannibal pulls out a cigar and chews the end off before turning to face the woman sitting next to her.

"Of course he is. That's part of the plan." He lights the cigar, ignoring the glare BA shoots him from the front. "But he won't find you."

* * *

There's no sign of Murdock back at their hideout, a disused warehouse left to rack and ruin. Hannibal doesn't want to let his team know how worried he is. For now though, they have to stick to the plan.

"First things first," the colonel starts. "We need to find Murdock."

"What about me?" Annabelle says. "Surely I'm your first concern? I _am_ paying you, remember."

"You ain't my first concern," BA interjects forcefully.

Hannibal perches on the edge of a rickety table and looks closely at the woman for the first time since they snatched her. She looks scared, worried for her own welfare, but Hannibal can't forget how scared she looked when he kidnapped her. He doesn't entirely trust her face.

"What if it was Decker?" Face wonders. "What if we've been set up?"

"Have we?" Hannibal demands, glaring at Annabelle, wondering if she's had him completely fooled all along.

She shakes her head vehemently. "No." Her voice doesn't waver. "No, never. I need to get away from him. Why would I set you up?"

She sounds convincing but they've been in this position before.

"What did Decker promise you?" he persists. "A way out of your problem and a nice little nest egg to be on your way?"

"No! I swear. I don't even know who Decker is. You have to believe me. I'm not safe here. You have to help me, get me away from here."

Hannibal chews on his cigar and looks closely at her. Then he beckons Face and BA, stepping out of her earshot.

"What do you think, guys?" he asks them as they turn as one to look at the woman who is watching them nervously.

"I don't know Hannibal," Face admits. "She looks innocent."

"You're no judge of character," BA interrupts. "A pretty face and long legs and your common sense goes out the window."

Hannibal stifles a laugh. "He's got a point, kid."

Face huffs like a child. "Well," he complains, "if you don't want my opinion, why ask for it?"

"Team decision," Hannibal answers with a grin.

"I really don't think she knows who Decker is," Face persists.

"BA?" Hannibal turns to his sergeant, the man least likely to be swayed by a pretty face and long legs. Although…

"She's innocent," he declares. "Miller's got her head so screwed she wouldn't know how to scheme her way free."

Hannibal nods. It's kind of what he was thinking too. He turns back to her.

"Okay, we believe you."

"So you'll get me away from here?" she asks, desperation seeping into her voice. "Now? Before Joseph realises what's happened? He'll kill me if he finds me. He'll kill you for helping me. I need to go. I need to be far away from here."

"You're safe," Hannibal reassures her. Trouble is, he thinks, she's becoming a liability. They do need to get her away, from Joseph, from this city, from them.

"What next, Colonel?" Face asks.

What next indeed? Hannibal wonders. They're a man down and BA and Face disposed of both their potential witnesses outside the changing room. And they have a woman on their hands who appears to be bordering on hysterical.

"Yeah, Hannibal," BA chimes in. "What's the plan?"

"Plan's not changed, sergeant," he tells his men, knowing they don't believe him but too loyal to question it in front of a client. "We just need to find Murdock."

He pretends not to see BA turn to Face. He pretends not to see the look they exchange. And he pretends not to hear BA when he says, "I hate this plan."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Joseph Miller is not a man who takes kindly to being attacked. Everybody in this town knows who he is and not one amongst them would dare to lay a finger on him. Whoever this _Marvellous Mungo_ is, he's just laid himself open to a world of trouble and pain. He may be a stranger but Joseph doesn't believe in random, not in his line of work. There's something behind this and he's determined to find out what it is.

He's ordered his men to put the man in the basement for now, secured and guarded, no chance of escape. Now, in his study with his head of security and chief financial officer, he sits behind his ornate oak desk and glares at them.

"What the hell happened back there?" The question is aimed at Mark Ellis, his security man and, to all intents and purposes, his second in command.

Ellis just shrugs. "A lunatic," he suggests. "An opportunist passing through."

Miller shakes his head thoughtfully. "No," he disagrees. "He may be a lunatic but there was nothing opportunistic about that. He's no random mugger. Muggers don't hang out in exclusive gym grounds and they don't drive vans like that." He pauses and thinks for minute. "Search that van," he orders. "See if there's anything in there that might tell us who this man is and what he's really after."

Ellis nods and leaves Miller and his CFO in the study.

"So," Miller starts, looking at the woman standing almost to attention in front of him, "what's your take on this?"

She meets his eye, holding his gaze steadily. "I think," she says, relaxing visibly, "that we have the office to ourselves. Let Mark deal with this, that's what he's here for."

Miller laughs. "One track mind, Chloe," he remonstrates gently, rising from his seat and moving towards her. Placing one hand on her waist he pulls her in for a kiss before releasing her. "I need to know who this man works for and what he was after."

She shakes her head and pouts slightly. "And you say I have a one track mind," she responds.

Miller smiles as he heads to the doorway. "You're welcome to join me," he offers, knowing she won't, knowing she doesn't want anything to do with the more seedy side of his business. As expected, she declines.

* * *

All things considered, Murdock's in a pretty good place right now. The basement is dry, there's a small window high up – too small to offer any possibility of escape but it lets in enough natural light for him to see – and it's full. Full of things that Miller's probably forgotten he even has.

The ropes keeping his hands behind his back are tight though. He's tried to pull at them but whoever bound him knew what they were doing. There's not even a millimeter of give. All he's going to do is rip his skin from his wrists and open himself up to infection.

So he stops trying and takes a good look around, wondering if there's anything there he could use to get himself free. He's under no illusion that Miller or his buddies will be back soon and he'd really like to be gone by then. He wonders what the guys are up to, whether they've been successful and if they have, what their next move is going to be.

There are disused packing cases, empty as far as Murdock can see, that might make a good hiding place, discarded cans of paint and racks of shelving holding archive boxes. Murdock files that little piece of information away for later.

He's just shuffling over to the shelving, hoping to find a rough edge to work on the ropes when the door to the cellar opens and Miller stands in the entrance, an imposing figure silhouetted by the sunlight streaming in through the window behind him.

Murdock freezes and raises his head up, staring defiantly at the man and ignoring the two men behind him.

Miller steps purposefully down the steps leading to the basement and comes to a halt just inches from Murdock. He's so close the pilot can smell his aftershave and a faint hint of minty toothpaste when the man gives him a cold grin.

"So," Miller says, "shall we try this again?" and Murdock just grins back and shrugs. "Who are you and who do you work for?"

"I'm new in town," Murdock tells him. "You looked like rich pickings."

Miller shakes his head and Murdock knows it's a thin ploy he's playing but he needs to buy the guys time to get Annabelle out of town and then find him. He hopes they do it that order although sometimes team loyalty can blind them.

"You're not a very good liar," he's told and he laughs inwardly. If only the man knew how many different people he has standing in front of him in one body.

"You wound me," he declares, ducking his head and looking up at his captor through dark eyes.

"Let's see if we can loosen your tongue." Miller steps to one side and Murdock notices the guard standing behind smiling coldly at him. In his hand there's a knuckle duster and Murdock's heart sinks. With his arms tightly held behind his back there's no way he can protect himself.

As the guard raises his fist and steps forward, Murdock decides that one way or another the next few minutes are going to be extremely painful. He can either stand here and take it, or he can try and even things out.

He's never been one to take the easy way out.

He bends at the waist, tucks his head in, and charges like a bull. He catches the guard unawares in the gut and they both go flying backwards, the guard tripping over the bottom step. As one they fall to the floor, Murdock rolling off the second he feels the man beneath him slump bonelessly as his head hits the the third step up.

Unfortunately his balance isn't as quick to catch up and as he tries to regain his own feet, he feels a hand grasp the back of his collar, flinging him away from the steps and his way out. He lands inelegantly, his left shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Years of training kick in and he twists away from his enemies, rising to his knees as quickly as he can.

It's not quick enough though as Miller reaches him in two determined strides. A fierce backhand across the face is all it takes to knock Murdock to the ground, this time landing on his right shoulder. A booted foot finds its way to his side and as pain radiates in shards through his torso he wonders if something is broken or just severely bruised. Gasping for breath he decides it's not really important at the moment as he watches the same foot pull back for another go.

"Mr Miller," a deep voice comes from the doorway and the foot stops in midair before settling back on the ground. "You should see this, sir."

"See what, Mark?" Miller snaps. "Can't you see I'm busy here?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Mark continues, and Murdock doesn't think the man sounds very contrite. "But the van, sir. There's an arsenal in there. Enough for a small army."

Murdock's heart sinks. Marvellous Mungo is on his way out for sure now.

"An arsenal, you say?" Miller replies and turns back to Murdock. "And what would you be doing with an arsenal, I wonder?"

But before Murdock can formulate a reply that, Ellis continues. "There's something else. Andrews just called from the gym. Mrs Miller's been kidnapped."

* * *

Hannibal watches his team, or what's left of it, as they watch him. He knows they're expecting him to pull a rabbit from his hat and he will. But first he has to get the rabbit in the hat.

Annabelle is pacing the floor, her eyes flitting from him to Face to BA and back to him. The first thing he needs to do is find out what happened to his pilot and then he needs to find a home for Annabelle in a place that Miller will never think to look.

"Face," he says, knowing his lieutenant isn't going to like this. "Go back to the gym, see what you can find out."

Face raises his eyebrows, just like Hannibal knew he would.

"What?" he says. "Just go back to the gym? The place we were just at, attacking guards and kidnapping one of their best customers? The place that's probably been told to call the cops if they even _think_ they see any of us?"

Hannibal grins. "That's the place."

"And what am I supposed to do when I get there?"

"Ah, kid. That's _your_ forté."

Face shakes his head in mock exasperation and turns to BA, presumably for sympathy. "That's _my_ forté," he tells the sergeant with a long suffering sigh.

"You just find the fool," BA tells his friend and Hannibal can sense the underlying concern in the big man's voice.

"Fine," Face huffs. "And what do I do when I find out?"

"We'll be here waiting for you," Hannibal reassures him.

Face nods, apparently resigned to his assignment and the colonel watches him as he takes one last look at BA before heading towards the door. As he puts his hand on the door knob, Hannibal checks one last thing.

"Are you armed?" he asks.

Face turns and gives Hannibal one of his most charming smiles and pats the small of his back. "Of course," he replies.

"Good," Hannibal says, then pauses for a heartbeat before finishing, "Be careful, kid."

Face looks him in the eye. "I always am."

* * *

BA watches Face leave before turning back to Hannibal.

"You think he's gonna find Murdock?" he asks, not really expecting the truth from the colonel. Of course he's going to say yes. This is his plan and his plans never go wrong.

Except when they do.

Murdock not being in the parking lot was the first sign this plan is going to hell. The van being missing was the second clue. And now? Now they have a woman who's getting in the way of finding Murdock, and the van, and Hannibal has clearly decided that Face is going to be able to locate their missing pilot and vehicle.

True to form, Hannibal nods confidently. "The kid's a genius," he asserts. "He could charm his way out of a snake pit. Getting information from the gym? Piece of cake."

BA's not convinced but maybe his worry over Murdock is colouring his judgement here. He'll go along with Hannibal's plan for now, but it doesn't mean he has to like it.

"What about her?" he asks, jerking his head in Annabelle's direction. The woman in question has stopped her pacing and is sitting at one of the rickety tables, head in hands. BA's sympathetic to her situation but he just wants to be rid of her now so they can concentrate on more important matters.

Hannibal _hmms_ and turns to study her. "We need to get her somewhere safe, somewhere Miller won't look for her." He stops and rubs his chin thoughtfully.

"How's your mother?" he asks and BA, taken by surprise by the question frowns.

"She's good, Hannibal. But what's that got to do with…" and then realisation hits. The colonel wants to send Mrs Miller to Mrs Baracus for safe keeping.

Mixed emotions run through the sergeant. On the one hand, he's thrilled that Hannibal thinks so highly of his Mama that he'd even consider sending Annabelle to her. On the other hand, he doesn't want trouble landing at her door because of him.

"I don't know, Hannibal." He's hesitant even though he can see the logic in the colonel's thinking.

"Miller will never look for her in Chicago. Your mama will be just fine. And," he breaks off and tilts his head at BA, "she's a force to be reckoned with. I wouldn't argue with her. Would you?"

Dammit, thinks BA. Hannibal knows exactly what to say to get his own way. He wonders how much Face actually learnt from their leader; he's not the only one with a way with words.

BA looks at Hannibal who is waiting patiently for an answer before turning his gaze to Annabelle. She's watching them intensely, chewing the corner of one perfectly manicured thumbnail. BA hasn't really had much time for her up till now but with the prospect of handing her over to his mother he finds himself really studying her now.

She looks tired – not physically tired, but mentally and emotionally exhausted. BA's not a demonstrative man but he has high morals. People who mistreat children are, to him, the lowest of the low. Closely followed by those who mistreat women. And this particular woman has clearly been mistreated. He can't find it in himself to stop her going to Chicago.

"Well," the sergeant finally concedes, "she would love the company I suppose."

Hannibal nods and turns to Annabelle. "And you're going to love Mrs B," he tells her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Clothes maketh the man. Face has lived by this maxim for his whole adult life, and for some time before that. People rarely look beyond the cover of a book.

He's halfway out of the warehouse, planning his next scam to worm information out of the gymnasium, before he remembers his clothes are in the van. Which is wherever Murdock is.

This could be a problem, he thinks as he comes to a halt. He takes a quick look at his watch – they've been gone a while. Hopefully there will have been a change of staff on reception at least, and with a bit of luck Miller will have been too proud to call the cops. He doesn't strike Face as the type of guy to admit to not being able to protect his own wife.

He sighs and glances down at what he's wearing. It's a little dusty and ruffled, not the image he'd really like to project but it's what he's got. He's worked with less.

He takes his Vette to complement his image and heads back to the scene of the crime. He's not stupid enough to drive in but leaves the car a couple of blocks away.

Being on foot gives him a couple of advantages. He can hide more easily, lose himself in the late morning crowd. And he can take his time to have a really good look round. Cars are all well and good but when you're having to concentrate on the road as well as your surroundings it's easy to miss something.

He approaches the gymnasium confidently, glancing surreptitiously left, right, in front and behind. Once he's happy he's not being watched, or at least no more than usual, he pushes the doors open.

Stepping inside, he makes a beeline for the reception desk. The young woman on duty looks up and smiles at him. There's no sign of recognition on her face and the lieutenant doesn't recall seeing her earlier.

"Hi, good morning," she chirps at him. "How can I help you today?"

Face brings out his most potent weapon – his smile. "Well good morning to you," he replies, turning the charm on full. In other circumstances he'd probably enjoy this a lot more but he's got work to do and Murdock may not have the time for Face to play around.

"I'm new in town," he continues, resting an elbow on the reception desk, looking up at the girl through hooded eyelids. "I was told this is the place to get in shape," he glances at her name badge, "Marie."

Marie wilts slightly under his gaze. "You've certainly come to the right place," she replies, "but I wouldn't say you need to get in shape."

Face straightens up and pats his perfectly toned abdomen. "That's kind of you to say," he smiles, "but this doesn't happen by itself." He's lying, of course. His line of business is more than enough to keep him in trim but Marie doesn't need to know that. "I'm sure _you_ don't have to work as hard as I do."

Marie simpers and rummages under the counter for some papers which she hands over to Face. He glances through the membership forms and reaches for his inside pocket before remembering he's not wearing his best jacket. Marie has a pen in her hand instantly, holding it out to him. He takes it from her, carefully brushing her hand with his, just a little.

"Thank you," he says, and turns his attention to the paperwork. He can feel her watching his every move as he clicks the pen on and off and on and off again. The first few boxes are easy – name, address, telephone number – and he scrawls the first thing that comes into his head. As he gets to the medical questions he pauses.

"I heard Joseph Miller's a member here," he comments.

"Oh, I can't really talk about our clients," Marie hesitates. "It wouldn't be professional."

"I understand," Face soothes her. "It's just that he and I knew each other a long time ago. We were good friends but we lost touch when I moved away. I heard he got married and I'd love to catch up with him again." He gives Marie one of _those_ looks before dropping his head back down to the paperwork.

"Well," Marie whispers, "I shouldn't really tell you this but yes, he does come here sometimes. Not as often as his wife mind."

"Really?" Face feigns as much interest as he can. "Is she here now?"

"Oh no," Marie gasps. "She was here first thing this morning but… well… something terrible happened." She stops and looks around the reception area, a worried expression on her face.

Face puts the pen down and takes her hand in his. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, concerned sympathy oozing from every word.

"I really shouldn't," she shakes her head.

"It helps to talk about these things," Face reassures her, stroking her hand gently.

"Well," and Face can tell he's nearly there, "you promise not to tell anyone I told you?"

"My lips are forever sealed," he tells her.

She looks around again, eyes flitting all over the reception area. Face lets go of her hand and rests the palm of his hand on the side of her face. "It's okay," he says, "I promise it will go no further.

She nods slowly, leaning into his touch and he realises that for once he's not moved by the softness of her skin or the clarity of her eyes. He just wants information.

"Mrs Miller was kidnapped this morning. It was awful. Apparently there were five men, armed to the teeth and poor Mrs Miller was unconscious and bleeding all over the place."

"Did you see this?" Face asks her while marveling at how exaggeration has taken their actions and turned them into a full scale military attack.

"Oh no," Marie shakes her head. "Ali told me this and she saw everything. Even the mugging in the parking lot."

And that's what Face has been waiting for. "Mugging?" he put just the right amount of alarm into his voice. "What mugging?"

"Just as the kidnappers were about to leave, Mr Miller arrived but he was attacked in the parking lot. Someone tried to mug him but his bodyguards made short work of him. Knocked him and took him away. Him and his van."

"Really?" Face's alarm isn't a charade any more. It doesn't take a genius work out who the mugger was. "Where'd they take him? The cops?"

"Oh no, Mr Miller doesn't use the police. He has his own security. They probably went back to the Miller Estate."

"Wow, he's gone up in the world since I last saw him," Face laughs, covering up the turmoil going on in his head. "He has his own estate?"

"Yes. You can't miss it. It's huge." Marie sighs wistfully. "I wish I could see what it's like up there."

"Well, I'll tell you what, honey," Face shuffles the papers in front of him. "When I find him, I'll invite you up there. He and I have lots to catch up on but if he's still the same old Joe I remember, he'll be more than happy to show you around too." Face makes a show of looking at his watch. "Look at that," he exclaims, "I could waste hours talking to you but I have to get going. Where did you say his estate is?"

* * *

Joseph Miller is pissed. There's no other way of putting it. It's clear to him now that the attempted mugging was just a diversion, an obstacle between him and Annabelle to allow her kidnap to take place.

He looks at the man on the floor at his feet and takes a little satisfaction in the pain showing on his face. But it's nothing compared to what he's going to feel. Of that, Miller is certain.

He drops to his haunches and stares at Murdock. Then, slowly, he reaches out, enjoying the way his captive's eyes follow his hand warily. He grasps the captain by the chin, allowing his fingers to sink into the meager flesh until he's gripping bone. Forcing his head up, Miller digs deeper, reveling in the pained gasp that breaks free from Murdock.

"We can play this game all day," he tells him, "but I don't have all day and I'm not a patient man. Where are the men who took my wife?"

The man beneath his hand shakes his head, or tries to. Miller releases his grip very slightly to allow him to speak.

"I don't know nothing about your wife," he croaks. "I told you. I was just trying to make an easy buck."

Miller lets go of Murdock's jaw forcibly, throwing his head back in the process and smiling as he hears the dull thud of skull on concrete.

"I can beat it out of you, or you can just cooperate. You never know, I might let you live if you tell me what you know right here and now." He leans in again, so close no-one else can hear him. "This is a one time offer," he whispers. "Take it now if you ever want to see daylight again."

"Daylight's overrated," Murdock replies. "Night time is always better. Did you ever go out at night and see all the stars shining and twinkling? Did you see the man in the moon? Cause I did. I see him all the time. Why would I want to see the daylight when all the pretty stuff comes out at night?"

"One time offer," Miller repeats.

"But you just made it again," Murdock points out. "So it's at least a two time offer. Maybe three. You wanna make it again? Just one more time? Or maybe another two tmes? Make it a four time offer?"

Miller feels a spark of anger embed itself in the bottom of his gut. The longer the crazy man rambles, the hotter it gets. The man has apparently turned the ability to annoy into an art form.

He spins round to Ellis. "What exactly is in the van?" he demands.

"Guns, rifles, hand grenades, knives," he replies and Miller's mind kicks into gear. "Ropes, wires, radios," Ellis continues.

"Radios?" Miller interrupts, eyeing Murdock with renewed suspicion. "How many?"

"Eight," Ellis replies, "but not all serviceable. One or two look pretty shot up to me."

"Really. Want to tell me about those?" he asks turning his attention back to Murdock.

"I don't know," comes the reply. "Is this part of the one time, not one time, offer?"

Miller shakes his head ominously. He's really had enough of this guy and his smart ass replies. It's a long time since he got his own hands dirty, his money has seen to it that he can delegate that particular duty, but sometimes the urge in him is strong.

Right now, it's stronger than it's ever been.

Leaning down, he grasps Murdock by the throat and squeezes, harder than necessary but as his muscles work, Miller feels empowered in a way that his money can't always buy.

"You're playing with fire here," he hisses, watching as his captive's eyes settle on a point behind his shoulder. "You really should tell me what I want to know."

There's a show of a struggle as Murdock tries to shuffle away from the grip around his neck but Miller is in a strong position and he refuses to give even a millimeter of slack.

Murdock shakes his head and croaks, "Okay! Okay, I'll tell you."

Miller releases his grip slightly, disappointed that the game seems to be over so quickly. He forces his victim's head round so they're eye to eye.

"Your wife," Murdock begins. "She's really something. And that gym? For all the money you're paying, you ought to be talking to them about their security. I've never seen anything so shoddy in my life. I mean, who climbs through locker room windows these days? What happened to CCTV? Not in the locker rooms, obviously, but…"

Miller raises his hand without even realising it, delivering a harsh backhand that whips Murdock's head back as far as it will go.

"Don't mock me," he threatens, taking great satisfaction in watching a trail of blood slide down Murdock's chin from the newly split lip. "Try again."

There's a shuffling of footsteps behind him and then a polite cough as someone tries to catch his attention. Sighing, he turns his head.

"What?"

"Andrews just called in from the gym again. They got the car details from the CCTV at parking lot. It's been spotted it outside the old disused warehouse down on Bayside."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Decision made, BA makes one call to his mother and it's all arranged. Annabelle will take the train to Chicago where she'll be met by Mrs B's friend and neighbour. When this is over, they'll all head out to Chicago. It's been a while since BA has seen his mother and Hannibal knows she'll make them all welcome. He'll be careful though, he'd never put her in unnecessary danger but as homes go, it's the only real home any of them have got.

Annabelle puts up a slight protest but it's halfhearted at best and when BA leaves with her for the station, Hannibal is relieved she's gone. He won't relax totally until they get a phone call to say she's safely stashed away but for now she's one less thing to worry about.

While he waits for BA he checks their supplies. The missing van could be problematic; their weapons are always kept in the back when they're on a mission and this has been no exception. The weapons they were holding when they snatched Annabelle are the only ones they have now. But they've been in worse situations and, he thinks, looking around the warehouse, there are plenty of options here for them if push comes to shove.

Hannibal doesn't know what the warehouse stored in its previous life but beneath the dust and filth it homes various lengths of rope, metal shelves, rusted tools and decrepit furniture. They've done more with less so he's not overly concerned.

He hears a car pull up outside and instinctively takes cover behind some abandoned packing boxes. He's pretty sure it's BA but it doesn't hurt to take precautions.

The door creaks open and his sergeant peers round the corner. Hannibal smiles as he watches BA check out the interior. It seems they're both as cautious as each other.

"Is she on the train?" the colonel asks, stepping out from his hiding place.

BA nods. "Mama's gonna make sure she's met at the station. She'll let us know when she's there."

Hannibal nods. He doesn't want to do too much until Face gets back with news of Murdock and the van but he can't help thinking that Miller is already on to them and he and BA ought to be prepared for any unexpected arrivals.

"What can you do with this?" he asks BA, waving his arm around the warehouse. "We might need to improvise. I don't know about you but I don't have a lot of ammo left."

BA turns slowly on the spot, his eyes sweeping over the assorted contents of the store. Hannibal relaxes as he spots inspiration creeping into BA's face. His sergeant is a mechanical genius and he'd rather be stuck with him than anyone else in this particular situation.

"I can do something," BA acknowledges and Hannibal nods contentedly. All he needs now is the remaining two members of his team.

* * *

Face hurries back to the Vette. He doesn't want to draw any attention to himself so he doesn't quite break into a run. He knows where Murdock is and, thanks to Marie, he's got the exact location. He's sensible enough to know that he needs Hannibal and BA before he can go any further so that's where he heads – back to the warehouse.

He's cautious on the drive back but nobody seems to be following him. He doubles back on himself several times just to be on the safe side. Even the most laborious route can be dangerous if you're not careful.

He gets to the warehouse just as three dark saloons are pulling up outside. He slows down enough to get a good look at what's going but not enough to draw attention to himself. He doesn't like what he sees.

He's been in this business long enough to know that dark saloons often mean only one thing – trouble – and the look he got was enough to recognise the demeanour of the men in the cars. He reckons each car held four men, that's twelve men they need to deal with, and they probably all have at least two guns each, that's twenty four weapons, and he wouldn't be surprised if there are at least another couple of knives thrown in there for good measure.

That's more than Hannibal and BA can deal with, even on a good day. He can only hope they've managed to move on to another hideout. But then, he reasons, why would they? There's been no indication they've been located by Miller but then again, he's not a stupid man and he appears to have an infinite amount of resources at his finger tips.

There's no denying it, the colonel and sergeant are in a sticky situation.

Face pulls into a convenient parking spot two blocks away from the warehouse and automatically picks up the carphone to call Murdock for help before he remembers the reason they're still in town in the first place. Shaking his head, he puts it back down and sighs deeply.

It's time to consider his options. He can storm in, guns blazing, and hope he can create enough of a distraction to give Hannibal and BA the upper hand. There are advantages to this plan. The element of surprise can be quite effective when sprung at the right time. But there are also disadvantages. Three cars, four men per car, twelve men in total. That's four against one whichever way you look at it.

Or, he could step back and watch. It's not an option that sits well with him, leaving his team mates to fend for themselves with an uncertain outcome. But, he reasons with himself, he'll be of more help to them when he's got a better idea of what's going on. He doubts very much that they'll kill his friends – they know where Annabelle is, after all. If things go south, he'll be there with a rifle but there's no point all three of them ending up in a cellar somewhere.

He wracks his brain for a third option but comes up blank. Option two it is.

* * *

Hannibal sits back and studies BA's creation with satisfaction. The man, he's convinced, could construct any weapon known to man, and some that aren't, given enough time and material.

He nods and grins, "Nice, BA," he comments. "Very nice. Miller and his goons won't know what's hit them."

BA smirks and Hannibal knows his praise has had an impact on his sergeant.

"All we need to do now," the colonel continues, "is sit back and wait for Face, or Miller, whoever gets here first." He hopes it's the former but the squeal of tires outside and the look on BA's face tell him it's the latter.

"They're here," BA rumbles and looks to Hannibal for some sort of command. "An' there's lots of them."

Hannibal really wishes Face were back but they've been in stickier situations in the past. It's time to put BA's invention to the test.

"I know you're in there," a voice bellow from outside. "You've got three minutes to send my wife out and we'll leave you alone."

BA cocks his head in Hannibal's direction. Hannibal meet's his sergeant's eye and wiggles his eyebrows.

"Ah, it might take more than three minutes," the colonel shouts in return. "You know what women are like when it comes to getting ready."

"Ah, Hannibal!" BA complains. "What you want go winding him up like that for?"

"Three minutes and then you're all dead," comes the reply.

Hannibal turns to BA. "Three minutes," he states. "That's like a month of Sundays for us."

"No it ain't," the sergeant says. "How we gonna get out of this one?"

"It's simple," Hannibal replies. "I'll keep them talking while you take them out with this," and he gestures to BA's improvised missile launcher.

BA follows his hand with his eyes and shakes his head as he moves deftly to the weapon. Hannibal's not sure but he thinks he hears a muttered curse and reference to 'the jazz'.

Hannibal moves so he's nearer to the door but not in the line of any direct fire that may come his way. "We're going need some more time," he shouts through the door. "Annabelle seems to have wandered off somewhere. But," and he pauses for dramatic effect, "we know where she is, so …"

"Two minutes."

"Two minutes, Hannibal!"

"Relax, BA. Get that thing loaded and be ready on my command." It's a pointless order. Hannibal sometimes thinks BA was born ready and the missile launcher is already in position.

"Maybe we could negotiate," Hannibal throws out to his audience outside.

"There's nothing to negotiate. You have my wife and I want her back."

Well, thinks Hannibal. At least they have confirmation that it's Miller out there with his army. They've got the attention of the head man and although this isn't quite how he'd planned it, he'll take if for what it is.

"There's always something to negotiate," Hannibal replies and casually leans on the doorway. "For example, I have something you want and you have something I want."

There's a pause from outside and Hannibal can almost hear Miller thinking.

"What do you want? Money? Is that it?"

Hannibal looks at BA and grins. "Some people," he comments, "have no imagination," before continuing, "Come in here and we can talk. Face to face."

"Time's up!"

Hannibal hears a chorus of weapons being primed and nods once to BA as he pulls his own pistol, settling himself where he can fire out of one of the grimy windows but not expose himself too much.

The windows shatter all along the building, giving him his first clear view of the activity outside. Whirling round to fire his own weapon he counts eleven men with automatic rifles aimed at the building and one man - Miller, he presumes - standing behind the middle car, watching the proceedings but not partaking in them.

The colonel fires three times, skillfully taking out a tyre on each vehicle, and then ducks as BA lets loose a war cry worthy of the battlefields of 'Nam. The projectile that flies over his head appears to be a combination of nails, sawdust, chain-links and pieces of broken furniture.

Whatever BA has found, he rearms his missile launcher with speed and fires once more before Hannibal's ammunition runs out.

The men outside seem to realise what's going on inside and in seconds they've swarmed through the broken windows. Hannibal puts up as valiant a fight as he can before succumbing to the overwhelming force. He watches as BA fires on last missile before he too is subdued and dislodged from his position of power.

Restrained and surrounded, Hannibal and BA are forced out of the warehouse where they are met by Joseph Miller. The man steps forward until he's in Hannibal's space, a deliberate move that Hannibal supposes is meant to make him feel menaced.

It doesn't work.

"Where is she?" Miller demands of Hannibal.

Hannibal simply shrugs. "She's not in there?" he asks, innocence personified. "I'm sure she was there earlier." He turns to his sergeant. "BA, did you see where she went?"

BA shakes his head and Hannibal turns back to Miller. "Seems neither of us have her now."

Miller growls, actually growls, and Hannibal wonders how red his face will get before his head explodes. Spinning on his heel, Miller turns to the man standing by his side.

"Take them both up to the estate. Let's see what the Marvellous Mungo has to tell us now." He turns back to Hannibal. "Because I think he knows a lot more than he's telling us and that you might just be what he needs to loosen his tongue."

* * *

Face watches the proceedings with mixed feelings. On the one hand he's impressed with the fight his unit has put up but on the other hand he's worried that with all those bullets and whatever the hell it is that Hannibal and BA are firing out of the warehouse there are going to be injuries.

When Miller's team storm the warehouse, Face knows there are two ways this is going to end. Possibly three but the likelihood of Hannibal and BA coming out on top are fading to nothing.

The appearance of his friends is a huge relief. It means Miller still wants them alive and as he watches them being bundled into the car, he relaxes slightly. Finally something seems to be going their way. Miller will take them to the estate, where Murdock already is. He knows where they're going and he knows how to get there.

All he has to do now is come up with an escape plan.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own The A-Team, their property (yes, I mean the van), their friends or their enemies. If you recognise something, it's probably not mine.

* * *

Miller's office, Murdock thinks as he looks around it, is the epitome of luxurious comfort bought with ill gotten gains. As he pulls surreptitiously at the ropes binding his hands while trying not to attract the attention of the one guard Miller left in charge of him, he wonders how long it will take him to escape.

The mass exodus Miller instigated on learning the car had been tracked down can only work to his advantage. If he were the guard left behind, Murdock muses, he'd be pretty pissed at being left behind to babysit. Of course, if Miller had been thinking straight, he'd have ordered Murdock back down to the cellar where he would have been back at square one.

But he didn't and now Murdock needs to turn this to his advantage. He's battered and bruised and, if truth be known, getting a little anxious. The guys should have got Annabelle away but it sounds like Miller's ahead of the game. He's worried that Hannibal, BA and Face won't have time to come up with any form of defence; the van, after all, is sitting uselessly outside complete with all their weapons and communications.

He lets out a long sigh, putting just enough pain into the sound to make the guard turn and glare at him.

"What?" he demands of the pilot.

Murdock just raises his eyebrows quizzically at the man. "What, what?" he responds.

The guard frowns as if he's trying to work out what Murdock's talking about. He appears to think for a few seconds longer then turns away from the pilot again.

Murdock smirks. Winding this guy up is just going to be too easy. He's clearly not the person who should have been left in charge of a slightly off balance soldier. Looking around the study for any ammunition he can get his hands on Murdock takes in the open fire. It's not lit but that doesn't matter. There's a solid brass set of companion tools – poker, brush, tongs, spade – all useful in more than one way.

He edges over towards the fireplace, eyeing the guard all the time. He's almost there when the man turns around.

"Where d'you think you're going?" he demands.

Murdock's eyes widen, all innocence. "To the fire," he replies as though it were obvious. Which it is. "I'm cold," he clarifies.

"Fire's not lit, idiot," the guard says, his own eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"But I'm cold," Murdock insists. "And Billy here is starting to shiver and when he starts to shiver, you know the cold's gonna get you."

The guard frowns as Murdock nods towards an empty space to his left.

"There ain't nothing there," he points out.

"What?!" Murdock cries. "Of course there is! He's sitting right there, shivering to his bones. What d'you mean there's nothing there?" He takes another step to the fire and shakes his head sadly. "Billy," he says, "that man over there can't see you. Are you just going to sit there and take that?" He pauses, listening to Billy's reply. "No," he says, looking up at the guard again, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The guard glares at Murdock and the pilot stops talking, looking up at the man.

"You're more trouble than you're worth," the guard growls, stepping forward menacingly.

"You have no idea what I'm worth," Murdock retorts and lunges forward, wondering absently if he's about to make a massive mistake. He ducks his head low and rams the guard in the stomach, knocking them both off balance.

But the guard has the clear advantage and he recovers quickly, throwing a punishing left hook into Murdock's ribs.

It hurts, but it's what the pilot was hoping for. He rolls with the punch, curling up in mock agony by the fireplace. The guard steps forward, his fist raised and face pinched in ugly rage.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Murdock gasps, putting a little more dramatic effect into his words than he actually feels. "That was stupid. I won't do it again – I promise!"

The guard seems to think about his words briefly before nodding, "You'd better not," he advises and Murdock drops his head in a show of defeat as the man steps back towards the window, fast losing interest in his captive.

Murdock smirks inwardly. This is all going perfectly to plan.

* * *

BA and Hannibal are unceremoniously bundled out of the car they've been travelling in. Hannibal supposes they should be grateful that they were at least in the same car although communication between them has been impossible.

Miller is standing on the driveway to his mansion, deep in conversation with one of his men – one Hannibal doesn't recognise from their reconnaissance or the fight at the warehouse. He watches as Miller turns and glares at the two team mates and can't help but grin and nod at the man. If his hands were free he would give him a cheery wave.

Hannibal is in his element despite the vibes from his companion. BA is just one big heap of indignation at the moment and Hannibal reckons he can use that later. He turns to the sergeant and smiles his most winning smile.

"See, BA?" he says. "I told you if we waited long enough we'd be invited to the big house." He turns back to Miller and raises his voice. "Nice place you have here. Are you going to ask us in?"

Miller stops his conversation just long enough to glare at Hannibal and BA before apparently dismissing them as an inconvenient distraction. The colonel uses the time to take a really good look around, assuming that BA is doing the same. The house is big and if the number of windows is anything to go by there are a lot of rooms they could have stashed Murdock in.

He wonders where the van is but a place this size probably has just as many garages to hide it in. Sparing a glance in BA's direction, Hannibal wonders what he'll go for first – the van or their pilot. He knows that in a life or death situation BA would never let anything happen to Murdock but the van is his pride and joy and woe betide any man that tries to come between them.

Lost in thoughts of strategy, Hannibal doesn't notice that Miller has moved forward until he's only a few feet away. He's clever, Hannibal thinks. He doesn't come too close, certainly not within arm's reach and his bodyguards are clearly armed.

"You're not going to get away with this," he informs Hannibal.

"Well," Hannibal retorts, "I'm glad you told me that. Saves a lot of time all round. We'll just be leaving then. Just as soon as you return my friend to us."

Miller laughs at this, actually out loud laughs.

"You'll see your friend soon enough," he replies. "To be honest, I'll be glad to be rid of him."

Hannibal nods sagely. "Yeah, he can have that effect on people. It's a talent of his."

"His talent is going to get him killed if he's not careful," Miller opines.

"Tell you what," Hannibal replies brightly. "We'll take him off your hands and be on our way and we can all enjoy what's left of the day."

Next to him BA sighs and drops his head. The colonel wishes he could give the man a consoling pat on the shoulder but that's out of the question right now so he just keeps on grinning at Miller.

* * *

Miller has had just about enough of this jackass and his team. The Marvellous Mungo has had his time and now it's all business as far as Miller is concerned.

He orders his guards to bring Hannibal and BA up to his study where he left the madman and a guard and stomps off ahead of them. He can hear some arguing going on behind him but quite honestly he doesn't care anymore.

As he reaches the door to his study he stops, not sure of what's alerted him to a problem but he's got a sudden sense of foreboding. In an ideal world he'd let one of his lackeys go first but the Marvellous Mungo and this Hannibal character have got him so riled up that he's not really thinking straight.

He opens the door and stops, taking in the scene with an increasing sense of disbelief. The first thing he notices is the breeze coming through the now open window. No, not open. Smashed.

Then he spots the disarray on his desk – files, pens, papers everywhere. He's meticulously neat, almost obsessive about it, but now there's no order to anything.

And then, finally, he realises the room is empty.

Spinning on his heels he yells out for Ellis who, it turns out, is just inches behind him.

"What the hell happened here?" he demands as the remaining guards push their captives into the room.

Ellis looks briefly panicked. Miller simply glares at him. He relies on his head of security to pick out the best of the best but right now it seems that a lunatic has got the upper hand and that isn't acceptable.

In the background he can hear the colonel laughing.

"Looks like he got away," he taunts and Miller can feel the heat rising in his face.

"Fool's done it," the other man is muttering and shaking his head slowly. "I can't believe the fool's done it."

Meanwhile, Ellis has moved past Miller to examine the window but he stops before he gets there. He standing behind the desk, looking down at something. Then he lifts his head and looks directly at Miller. Whatever he has to say, Miller realises, it's not going to be good.

"He's gone," the security man says and Miller feels his eyes narrowing.

"You think?" he asks, sarcastically. "What gave it away?"

Ellis, clearly used to bearing the brunt of Miller's wrath bends down and when he stands up again he's holding the poker from the fire. Miller can see that the end of it is coated in blood. Ellis looks down again.

"He got Robbins good."

"Is he dead?" Miller asks, because if this man has cost him a guard then he will know fury like no other.

"No, but he's not going to be doing much for a couple of days."

Miller spins round to Hannibal and BA. "Where is he?" he demands.

The older man just shrugs. "You said it yourself," comes the answer. "He's gone. He's a little crazy so he could be anywhere by now, wouldn't you agree BA?"

"Fool's crazy alright."

"We could track him for you, if you like?" Hannibal offers and Miller seethes at the man's arrogance and smugness.

"Oh, you'll find him, alright," he replies. "But maybe not in the way you're thinking." He turns to Ellis. "Get rid of these two, I don't have time for them right now. And make sure your men do a better job of keeping hold of them this time."


End file.
